No madness of ambition, avarice, none: Only such cups as left us friendly-warm, But now it seems some unseen monster lays My bliss in being; and it was not great; For save when shutting reasons up in rhythm, Or Heliconian honey in living words, an end And since the nobler pleasure seems to fade, Why should I, beastlike as I find myself, Not manlike end myself?-our privilege-What beast has heart to do it? And what man, What Roman would be dragg'd in triumph thus? Not I; not he, who bears one name with her Whose death-blow struck the dateless doom of kings, When, brooking not the Tarquin in her veins, She made her blood in sight of Collatine And all his peers, flushing the guiltless air, Spout from the maiden fountain in her heart. And from it sprang the Commonwealth, which breaks As I am breaking now! 'And therefore now Let her, that is the womb and tomb of all, Great Nature, take, and forcing far apart Those blind beginnings that have made me man, Dash them anew together at her will Thro' all her cycles-into man once more, Or beast or bird or fish, or opulent flower: But till this cosmic order everywhere Shatter'd into one earthquake in one day Cracks all to pieces,-and that hour perhaps Is not so far when momentary man And even his bones long laid within the grave, The very sides of the grave itself shall pass, Vanishing, atom and void, atom and void, Into the unseen for ever,-till that hour, My golden work in which I told a truth That stays the rolling Ixionian wheel, And numbs the Fury's ringlet-snake, and plucks The mortal soul from out immortal hell, Shall stand: ay, surely: then it fails at last And perishes as I must; for O Thou, Passionless bride, divine Tranquillity, Yearn'd after by the wisest of the wise, Who fail to find thee, being as thou art Without one pleasure and without one pain, Howbeit I know thou surely must be mine Or soon or late, yet out of season, thus Thus thus: the soul flies out and dies in the air.' And drew, from butts of water on the slope, The fountain of the moment, playing now A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball Danced like a wisp and somewhat lower down A man with knobs and wires and vials fired A cannon Echo answer'd in her sleep From hollow fields: and here were tele scopes For azure views; and there a group of girls In circle waited, whom the electric shock Dislink'd with shrieks and laughter : round the lake A little clock-work steamer paddling plied And shook the lilies: perch'd about the knolls A dozen angry models jetted steam : Pure sport a herd of boys with clamour bowl'd And stump'd the wicket; babies roll'd about Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids Arranged a country dance, and flew thro' light And shadow, while the twangling violin Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and over head The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch'd and ivy claspt, Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house; but all within The sward was trim as any garden lawn : A broken statue propt against the wall, A scarf of orange round the stony helm, And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, That made the old warrior from his ivied nook Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, And there we join'd them then the maiden Aunt Took this fair day for text, and from it We seven stay'd at Christmas up to read ; Were out of season: never man, I think, We did but talk you over, pledge you all And often told a tale from mouth to mouth As here at Christmas.' She remember'd that : A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it more Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. But these--what kind of tales did men tell men, She wonder'd, by themselves? A half-disdain Perch'd on the pouted blossom of her lips : And Walter nodded at me; 'He began, |